Even though the tickets were pricey, I didn’t buy the most expensive seats. So I’m surprised—and pretty pleased, if I say so myself—to find we’re at the front of the first level above the stage. The only thing between us and the mosh pit below is a thin concrete railing and a sheer drop; if I took a running leap, I could probably land on the stage itself, if I were crazy. Which I’m not.
Ross, on the other hand…
He leans over the railing and hollers at the crowd in the floor seats, his voice lost in the din of a hundred others. I sink into my seat and watch his backside, and fight the urge to just shove him over and be done with it. Why do I have to like him? I mean, of all the guys in our high school—many of them much cuter than he is, if I’m being honest, nicer, and funnier, too. But no
